After she locks up her place, we tromp downstairs at a pace slowed significantly by those razor-thin heels and I don’t feel the slightest bit put out by the delay or the sight of her arse swaying in that dress, above those shoes.
There’s no rush. She’s already mine.
I think those words for possibly the thousandth time today. Or, rather, Ifeelthem, in my bones. The way I felt the connection with my brother, when he still lived. The knowledge that we were family. You couldn’t break that bond. And, on a good day, like today, perhaps I’ll feel it with him again.
This woman is meant to be mine. She just doesn’t see it yet.
I stop her before we get to the pub, pull the scarf from my neck, and wrap it around her eyes.
I’m delighted to hear her sweet giggle as I lead her inside and get her seated.
“We’re in the pub?” she asks, holding tightly to my arm.
“Yeah. What do you think?”
“Well, I can’t see, but…” She tilts her head, listening, sniffing. There’s a lot to take in, I know. Christmas carols over the speakers. Mulled wine and pine needles and the scent of a wood fire crackling in the grate. The smile that breaks out on her face cracks something open inside of me.
Once she’s fully settled, I let her go and step back. “All right. Take it off.”
I watch closely as her eyes open, her mouth drops, her face lights up as it touches on the fairy lights and the tree and the yards and yards of sparkly things covering every square centimeter of the place.
When her face starts to crumple, I move in and take her hand.
“No. No, love. Don’t cry.” I point back to a stack of signs I’ve prepared, marker written on cardboard, like that awful scene from that film she loves so much. “Wait until I’m done with these, would you? Then you can let go and have a sob. I’m afraid I’ll never finish, otherwise.”
She nods and sniffles, not obeying in the slightest. “Okay.”
Slowly, with every muscle full of tension, I hold up the first sign and watch closely as she reads it.
I’M A BITTER OLD GRUMP. AND I KNOW IT, it says.
The second she starts to protest, I drop it on the floor, in the process unveiling the next board, which reads: READ TO THE END BEFORE COMMENTING, PLEASE.
With the sound of her laugh deep in my bones, I go on.
BUT THANKS TO YOU, I’VE REMEMBERED THAT I’M OTHER THINGS, TOO.
She nods, slow and sure.
I LIKE TO GIVE, TO LAUGH, TO PLAY, AND SHARE.
Her gaze meets mine and holds it.
I’D FORGOT HOW GOOD IT FEELS TO BE ALIVE.
Her soft gaze flicks up to meet mine again and though I know I should look away if I want to make it to the end without some sort of emotional breakdown, I don’t want to miss a single reaction.
AND BECAUSE IT’S CHRISTMAS (AND THAT BLOODY FILM SAID SO)
When she bursts into laughter I regret not thinking to record this moment.
I NEED TO SAY THAT, TO ME, YOU ARE MAGIC.
NOT ONLY BEAUTIFUL AND FUNNY, BUT…
JUSTTHE THING FOR THIS BITTER OLD HEART.
When our eyes meet, I feel the zing, the connection, that emotional cord we shared in the dark last night.
